The Wooing of Evelyn Carnahan
by Finding Beauty
Summary: Rick loves Evelyn. Evelyn loves Rick. If only it were that simple. The trials and tribulations of getting there, with one well-intentioned brother mucking things up along the way. Chapter four added, at last!
1. The Smile

  
  


**The Wooing of Evelyn Carnahan**

  


**Disclaimer**: I don't own _The Mummy_ or its characters. They're owned by Stephen Sommers, Universal Pictures, and no doubt several other people. In fact, all I own is my own little plot idea, and even that's not quite mine, considering Rick and Evelyn had to get together somehow – I'm just putting my own little twist on how it might have happened. That said, don't sue me; I have no money.

**Author's Note**: There's not a lot to say, save that this is _intended_ to be cute and mildly humorous. It's set after the events in _The Mummy_, but not too long after, so it's quite a while before _The Mummy Returns_. If Rick seems out of character, just look at it the way I do – one of them had to do it, and I don't see it being Evelyn 'I'm-a-_Librarian_!' Carnahan. ;) This is dedicated to NotQuiteShakespeare, Moonlit Aria, and She's a Star, for varied reasons. Now, on to the story!

  
  


**Chapter One**  
_The Smile_

  
  


His first clue something was wrong should have been the smile.

Oh, it shouldn't seem like an unnatural thing at all to smile.

He smiled all the time.

In fact, he smiled so often and in so many different ways, there were names for them.

The charming smile, the sarcastic smile, the heroic smile (close kin of the charming smile) . . .

But this, the 'I am a love struck idiot' smile, was completely new.

And disturbing.

After that, there was the way he listened. Oh, yes, he smiled and listened – while his jaw muscles ached from smiling like some sort of idiot, he sat there attentively listening to whatever it was Evelyn had to say, no matter how boring. And, well – she was prone to talking about some particularly boring topics. Ancient Egypt, the lineage of the pharaohs, mummification . . . all right, maybe all those weren't exactly _boring_, but they didn't interest him in the least.

But the girl talking about them, on the other hand . . . she interested him quite a bit.

Then, suddenly and without warning, it struck him – he, Rick O'Connell, dashing adventurer and ex-legionnaire . . . was in love.

It was a revelation that nearly made him drop the crate of priceless artifacts he was carrying, and as he fumbled it back into an upright position, the near-miss earned him a patented Look from Evelyn. Right, not the _best_ way to earn her affections, that.

"O'Connell, do be careful with that – those are quite fragile," she called over to him.

O'Connell. Right. He'd saved her from the mummy that wanted to make her a human sacrifice, and all she'd done was give him a single kiss of gratitude before everything went back to normal – and he went back to being O'Connell.

Maybe Rick's logic was messed up, but he thought if someone saved his life, he'd want to kiss them repeatedly.

Actually, Evelyn _had_ saved his life, and he knew for a fact that he wanted to kiss her. Repeatedly.

This was not good.

This was not good at all.

  
  
So, after _carefully_ helping to unload the rest of the new shipment, Rick had made some hasty excuse to Evelyn about an appointment he was late for, and quickly went to seek the closest thing he had to an expert on the situation.

Of course, calling Jonathan Carnahan an expert at anything was like asking Ardeth Bay which shade of black was the best suited for a spring soirée in the Sahara.

On the plus side, however, it wasn't hard to _find_ Evelyn's lay-about of a brother, as all one had to do was go to the seediest dive in the underbelly of Cairo and seek out the boisterous – and intoxicated – voice regaling tales of mummy-slaying.

"And then I finished off the creature with a flourish – even though by that time he was begging for mercy! – and stole his golden scepter," Jonathan was bragging, waving about a staff – likely made of pure gold – that he had chosen for part of his share of the treasure.

Rick wondered offhandedly how much of the treasure Jonathan had left besides that staff, but found it within himself not to care with stunning speed, instead stepping up to the bar and resting a firm hand on the Englishman's shoulder.

"Ah, O'Connell!" Jonathan exclaimed, gesturing with a distinct lack of precision to the stool on his left. "Sit down, sit down. Bartender, let's have one for my friend, shall we?"

"On the contrary, Jonathan," Rick said – with unusual amiability – as he sat down at the proffered seat, "I'm buying this round."

"Oh, well, I'll certainly not object to that," Jonathan responded, lifting the rest of his drink and downing it with the promise of another soon to come.

Rick, on the other hand, didn't touch the drink the surly-looking Egyptian man behind the bar set down in front of him, he simply fingered the rim of the glass, attempting to remain casual. It shouldn't be hard, as Jonathan wasn't the most perceptive person even when he was sober, but the subject Rick wanted to bring up wasn't exactly an every day topic of conversation, either.

"So, uh, Jonathan . . ." Rick said slowly. "Your sister –"

"What about her?" Jonathan asked, lifting a brow at the American man.

"Does she, uh . . . ever say anything about me?"

"Oh, yeah, all the time," Jonathan said, waving his hand around so that Rick had to duck back a couple of times to avoid being hit by the scepter. "It's 'O'Connell this,' 'O'Connell that' . . ."

Rick blinked, turning to stare at Jonathan. "All the time, huh?"

". . . Though," the other man clarified, "I suppose _complains_ might be a better word."

Alright, _definitely_ not what Rick was hoping to hear. The smile vanished completely, then – for the first time in several days – and he rose from his seat at the bar, paying the 'tender and turning to go.

He didn't even pay attention when Jonathan called back at him, "Say, are you going to drink that?"

  
  
So, Evelyn complained about him. She probably thought he was a filthy, rude, obnoxious American scoundrel, uncouth and with no manners. But when you'd spent most of your life hanging out with people who most often weren't far up the rung from the likes of Beni Gabor, it wasn't exactly to be expected you would behave like a cultured gentleman.

When Rick thought about what Evelyn probably liked in a man, though, he got an unsettling mental picture of some stuffy British guy in a tweed suit, with little round wire-rimmed glasses and a perfect part in his hair. And he'd come accessorized with a book in one hand and a cup of Earl Grey tea in the other.

Pacing up and down the length of his hotel room, Rick thought about what he had to offer Evelyn. He might not have been a great intellectual, but he was witty, charming, dashing. He'd survived death and danger! He stood for all-American fortitude!

So, putting all-American fortitude up against British stuffiness, which would Evelyn choose?

. . .

Probably British stuffiness.

Oh, no, this was not good at all.

  
  
_Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?  
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:  
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,  
And summer's lease hath all too short a date._

Rick lifted an eyebrow at the volume of Shakespeare's sonnets, then promptly stuffed it back in its place on the shelf. He could just see himself going to Evelyn like some kind of nance, getting down on bended knee, and reciting poetry. She would probably laugh him right out of Cairo; in fact, he could hear her incredulous tone now –

"Rick O'Connell, reading Shakespeare?"

_Damn._

There at the opposite end of the row stood one Evelyn Carnahan, looking beautiful as ever, her hair pulled up into a bun, but carelessly so, with a few spiraling tendrils falling in that way that they framed her face in such a lovely –

_Damn. Again._

She also looked rather amused, he noted as soon as he cleared his mind of the 'Rick loves Evelyn!' thoughts, arms folded across her chest and lips quirked up in a little smile. She had such nice lips, soft and –

_Concentrate. Say something. Cover your tracks!_

"Er," he said weakly.

_Oh, yeah, she's putty in your hands._

Evelyn looked at him momentarily as if she thought he was crazy, then slowly stated, "I was actually looking for you."

Rick immediately brightened, though he had no idea why she might be looking for him, it didn't really matter. Even if 'to profess her love' wasn't in the least near the top of the list, he was still happy.

"Yeah?" he asked, trying to force the obedient puppy tone out of his voice.

"Yes," she said, eyeing him somewhat dubiously. "One of the drawers on my desk seems to be jammed, and I need your help opening it."

"Oh," he responded disappointedly, though Disappointed Rick was quickly enough shoved off into a corner of his mind with all the other Nancy Ricks, as Tough Guy O'Connell instead stepped up to the plate. "Right."

So what if she didn't love him?

He didn't care.

He didn't care at all.

Nope.

Not at all.

Which was why he had to do something right away.

  
  
Her first clue something was wrong should have been the smile. The way O'Connell kept smiling at her like that was most disconcerting. It tended to distract her from her work, cause her to drop things – when, admittedly, she wasn't the most graceful person to ever grace the Land of the Pharaohs – and, worst of all, she had started smiling stupidly as well.

But that was something that most certainly needed to be stopped.

Richard O'Connell was not her type.

Oh, he was fine for anyone who liked the tall, dashing, handsome, heroic type, with that carelessly windswept hair, or those strong, muscular arms that were so gentle when they held you, or brilliant blue eyes you could just drown yourself in . . .

But honestly, who liked _that_ type?

Not her.

Certainly not.

No, no, and no.

Besides, it wasn't as if she should have thought O'Connell was the least bit interested in her anyway. So what if she had caught him reading Shakespeare in the library today? He probably saw her as another conquest – a challenge, because she was the modest librarian who seemed to be playing hard to get. Well, she was not going to be another notch on his bedpost!

. . .

Now, if only she could stop blushing at the thought of O'Connell's bedpost.

And besides!

She wasn't even really his type. He probably went for the blonde type with little brains and long legs and big . . .

Well.

Suffice it to say, Evelyn was not quite what she considered O'Connell's type to be.

She might have had a momentary infatuation with the man, but that was it. Why, it had to be common behavior, wanting to give someone a kiss of gratitude when they saved your life, which she had done, and that was well enough the end of it.

Even still, she could do with a little reassurance.

So that night, having actually talked Jonathan into staying home with the pretense of having dinner with her, she decided to put her brother to at least _some_ use.

"You know, old mum," Jonathan was saying, "When you actually put your mind to it, you're not that bad of a cook after all."

Promptly biting her tongue to keep from ruining all her careful preparations, Evelyn set her voice into a sweet tone. "Well, we spend so little time together these days, with my having to be at the museum, working . . ."

"Ah, yes," Jonathan said, looking up from cutting his meat. "Pretty well smashed up after Imhotep's mob came through, wasn't it?"

Crinkling her nose mildly at the mention of Imhotep, Evelyn nevertheless nodded, and saw this as her opportunity to casually bring up the topic of discussion she had been looking forward to. "Oh, yes, but O'Connell's been a great help in putting it back together . . ."

Anyone else might have found this suspicious, as Evelyn was nearly as subtle as she was graceful, but Jonathan failed that perception test. "Yes, O'Connell. He was asking me about you just today."

Evelyn quickly quashed the feeling of her heart skipping a beat. "Was he?" she asked, with attempted neutrality.

"Yes, something or other about whether he ever came up in conversation – like now, I suppose," Jonathan responded blithely.

_Oops._

"What did you tell him?" she demanded, a bit more sharply than she had intended.

"I told him you talked about him all the time. You do, of course, you know," her brother pointed out, waving his fork around for emphasis. "Most of it's _complaining_ . . . if I didn't know any better, though, I'd say you fancied him."

Evelyn laughed nervously. "What makes you think something like _that_? Me, fancy O'Connell?"

_. . . Oops._


	2. What Women Want

  
  


**Author's Note**: Wow, you like me . . . you really like me. ;) I really didn't expect this story to get such good feedback! In any case, Rick, Evelyn, and Jonathan are not mine. However, Charlie is mine, and based off my best friend, Beautifully Twisted, who would've made a heck of an aviatrix back in the day. Also, this chapter is dedicated to She's a Star, for channeling inspiration in my direction, and Forever and a Day for keeping me company while writing.

  
  


**Chapter Two**  
_What Women Want_

  
  


The next day, everything went on in a strange parody of normalcy. Evelyn went in to work at the museum, and Rick came to help her, as he usually did. However, Evelyn was quite fidgety over the fact Rick had been talking to Jonathan about her, and then, of course, there was the smile.

But today, the smile was gone.

The logical side of Evelyn's brain was relieved . . . while the other side was oddly disappointed.

Rick was acting like a perfect gentleman, helping her set up the exhibit that had arrived the day before. The museum was gradually getting back to a semblance of its former glory – before Imhotep had come crashing through – and despite Ardeth Bay's hesitation in allowing her to become curator – a duty usually reserved for the Med-jai, for obvious reasons – she was doing a stunning job of it.

If Evelyn hadn't been so self-conscious and fidgety, however, she might have noticed the fact that Rick was acting much the same way, and several times he had opened his mouth as if he wished to say something to her – only to close it again and go off about his business.

Needless to say, it made things a bit tense. Usually, they had at least a bit of witty banter flying back and forth.

But Evelyn was holding to her former resolve. She did _not_ fancy O'Connell.

Of course not.

And apparently, now, he didn't seem to fancy her, either.

So why did that make her unhappy?

She had been staring at the card catalogue for a good ten minutes, unblinking, with a card in her hand that she was supposed to place under the 'R' section. Unfortunately, this had sparked thoughts of 'Rick,' and the way he was acting all day. Finally, someone approached, jarring her out of her reverie, and she nearly slammed the drawer shut on her own hand.

Turning away from the neatly organized file cabinet, Evelyn saw O'Connell standing there, looking again as if he wanted to say something to her.

"I, uh . . ." Rick started, then trailed off with hesitation.

"Yes?" Evelyn asked expectantly, wondering distantly why her heart was fluttering so rapidly in her chest.

"I've gotta go," he said awkwardly, gesturing to his wrist as if he wore a watch – which he didn't, but it was merely to emphasize his point.

"Go?" she repeated dumbly.

"Yeah," he said, then making a motion toward the door.

Well, naturally, she knew what 'go' meant.

"I'm meeting an old friend of mine, Charlie, for some drinks," he finally explained.

"Oh," she said.

"Yeah," he said again.

"All right."

"All right."

"Have . . . um, fun."

"Yeah, thanks."

Then he left, and Evelyn turned back to her business of organizing the card catalogue, berating herself for acting so foolishly. However, it wasn't long before she moved to the 'O' section, and her thoughts again wandered to O'Connell.

_Drat_.

  
  
"What do women want?" Rick asked, leaning back perplexedly in his chair and fidgeting with the stout crystal tumbler in his hands.

"That's the question of the ages, my friend," Charlie responded.

"Yeah, but shouldn't you know? You're a woman."

And so she was indeed – five feet and nine inches of woman, with mile-long legs and curves that could flip a car, auburn hair and liquid eyes the color of the brandy in his glass. But oddly enough, Charlotte – who went by 'Charlie' due to her penchant for aviation – had always seemed more like one of the guys. She had a poker face that could drive a professional gambler to shame, and despite her bombshell appearance, she got more of a rush flying a biplane than flirting with a man.

That wasn't to say she didn't like men, of course – she loved them. But she and Rick had never gone anywhere past friendly flirtation, and when Charlie's aviation brought her into Cairo, the two of them often got together and just enjoyed each other's company. She found something novel in the concept of being able to have a conversation with a man as an equal, instead of him slavering all over her like a dog.

"O'Connell," she said shortly, setting her drink aside. "I'm going to be honest with you, let you in on a little secret. Women don't know what they want, not really. When it comes along, they might think, 'Hey, that'd be nice,' but when they sit around and think about it, it's usually just some fanciful notion that springs to mind."

Not quite satisfied with this answer, Rick furrowed a brow in a display of confusion, and drained his own glass before setting it aside as well. "It's just . . . there's this girl, Evelyn. She saved my neck – literally. 'Course, I returned the favor by saving her a couple of times from this mummy that wanted to kill her so he could bring his dead girlfriend back to life . . ."

Oddly enough, Charlie didn't seem fazed to hear this odd tale – she attributed it to Rick being a little drunk, and she'd always been fascinated – if not completely pulled in – by Egyptian myth.

"Anyway," Rick went on, shaking his head, "She's really great. I mean . . . beautiful, smart, funny . . . and did I mention beautiful?"

"I got the impression," Charlie responded dryly, then she offered him an expression of skepticism. "Can it be – Rick O'Connell's in _love_?"

Rick fidgeted around in his seat, made suddenly self-conscious and defensive by his friend's proclamation. He glanced around the quiet little hotel bar, as if fearing Evelyn happened to be standing only two feet away, listening to them, and then satisfied that no one had heard after all, he gave a reluctant shrug and turned back.

"What makes you think that?" he countered.

"I'm a woman," she pointed out, a grin spreading across her face. "I can tell these things."

Rick sighed, beckoning to the bartender to give him another, then he turned back to Charlie with a despondent look on his face. "Only thing is, she doesn't really give me the time of day."

"Oh, come now, you're a handsome guy," she said, arching an eyebrow. "No Beni Gabor," she added, her tone teasing as she referred back to the incident in which they'd met four years before – when she punched the aforementioned Hungarian's lights out for getting fresh. It had been one of the highlights of Rick's life at that point. "But you have your merit. What makes you think she doesn't like you?"

Trusting in Charlie's 'womanly intuition' for the moment, Rick considered the question. "I don't know – she's a librarian, for one thing. She's the curator of the museum here in Cairo . . . English . . . blushes when I look at her."

"Doesn't sound much like your type, Rick," Charlie said frankly. But, she thought, maybe that was why he found this Evelyn girl so appealing.

"I didn't think so either," he admitted with little restraint. "But there it is."

"Well," his friend went on, an encouraging smile appearing. "You've always been the type to go get what you wanted . . . so go get her."

Rick fleetingly had a vision of himself going up to Evelyn, throwing her over his shoulder without ceremony, and carrying her off to the nearest cave while she pounded at his back and demanded that he put her down at once. Actually, the whole shoulder-carrying incident had happened once before, only then he was carrying her into a bedroom, and –

_Stop right there_.

"Er," he said weakly.

"I've seen you woo quite a few girls, Rick," Charlie stated matter-of-factly, a smirk now replacing her previous expression. "All of them melted under the glare of your smile."

"The only difference is," he said, "That I actually like this one."

"It doesn't matter," the aviatrix said carelessly. "She might not like typical things, but there are a few standards that hold true. Give her a little gift or something to show you care. Flowers, candy, maybe jewelry . . . I know _I_ like jewelry. Or you could take the direct approach and just tell her how you feel."

"Right," he said with a sigh. "Like I can do that."

"Do what?" The distinctly English-accented voice interrupted the conversation of the two Americans, and Rick looked up to see none other than Jonathan Carnahan standing there, a curious look written all over the man's face.

"Nothing," Rick snapped, annoyed to have been sneaked up on by Evelyn's brother, of all people.

But it didn't really matter, because Jonathan's attention had soon enough turned to focus on Charlie, his eyes lighting up. "Well, well, well . . . who have we here?"

"Jonathan, meet Charlie. Charlie, this is Jonathan Carnahan – Evelyn's brother."

"Charlie, eh?" Jonathan said, seeming rather interested by this unusual name. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's mine," she countered, as she shook Jonathan's hand. "But I'm afraid I was just on my way out . . . so, Rick – I'll see you next time?"

Rick nodded. "Yeah. Have a nice trip out, Charlie."

"I will," she responded. "And – think about what I said."

She threw a wink back over her shoulder at Rick as she turned to go, and Jonathan's jaw dropped.

"Well," Jonathan said slowly, "I hate to see her go, but I have to say it's fun to watch her leave."

Rick, for his part, just shook his head and ordered another drink.

  
  
"You know, baby sister," Jonathan said a few hours later, as he sat settled boredly in a chair opposite Evelyn's desk, "You should get out more."

Evelyn looked up irritably from the stack of mail she had been sorting through – business for the museum, of course, all which fell into her lap since Dr. Bey had died (or, rather, been killed). "Jonathan, really, I have a lot of work to do . . ."

"Maybe you and O'Connell should do something," he went on, grabbing a little statuette off the desktop and tossing it up and down in the air.

Evelyn leaned forward to snatch the priceless Ushabtis from Jonathan's grasp, then she set it protectively back down on the desk. "Why do you say that?" she asked shortly, turning back to her paperwork.

"Well, the man certainly seems to know how to have a good time," Jonathan stated, apparently making an unintentional pun off Warden Hassan's original words to them when they'd inquired after what Rick was to be hanged for.

"What?" Evelyn asked with a blink, suddenly interested in the conversation.

"You wouldn't believe what I saw him doing today," Jonathan went on, obviously pleased by this little bit of gossip. He'd always been like that, of course – he got his daily interest out of his social events, especially now that they were all what you could consider rich.

"He was having drinks with an old friend of his," she said impatiently, obviously having considered this time spent drawing conversation out of Jonathan wasted. "Someone named Charlie."

"Ah, yes," Jonathan said, "But she didn't look like any Charlie I've ever seen."

_She?_ Evelyn thought, dropping her letter opener rather abruptly.

"I always thought O'Connell was a bit less brains than brawn, but he's certainly smart about one thing."

_Oh dear_.

Ignoring the rather awful, sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Evelyn calmly picked the letter opener back up – resisting the urge to stab Jonathan in a non-vital area . . . maybe his foot – and went back to her mail. "I'm sure it was nothing."

After all, why should O'Connell have any reason to lie to her? And why should she care that he was seeing another woman anyway? It wasn't like they had any kind of commitment. It wasn't as if he was her _boyfriend_ or anything . . .

Why, it wasn't even as if she liked him!

She didn't like him.

Not one bit.

In fact . . .

She loved him.


	3. Two Can Play That Game

  
  
**Author's Note**: I'm still alive, yes, and I will stop naming these chapters after romantic comedies in a bit. ;)

  
  


**Chapter Three**  
_Two Can Play That Game_

  
  
Naturally, Evelyn had been quite shocked and alarmed by her own epiphany, that she _loved_ O'Connell – no, Rick – but at the same time it was something of a relief. She now knew where the strange fluttering feeling came from, why her heart raced and her pulse pounded in her ears in a most intoxicating manner when he was around. She knew why she was using words like 'intoxicating' to describe her feelings when he was around.

The only problem was, he was seeing another woman. He had seemed, for a while, to fancy her; after all, there was the smile, and the way he had been acting, but now he was simply polite, and the way Jonathan had spoken of this 'Charlie' woman, it seemed as if Rick had perhaps given up on her entirely and moved on to different territory.

Evelyn knew she needed some way of sparking Rick's interest in her again, but what? She might have prided herself on being a modern woman, but her English roots still held her true to tradition, and it traditionally wasn't the place of the woman to woo the man. The man courted and brought flowers and presents and got down on bended knee to propose. After that, it was a simple enough matter for the woman to make all the wedding arrangements, but . . .

_For goodness sake, girl!_ She thought to herself. _Yesterday you didn't fancy O'Connell at all, and now you're thinking about marrying him?_

Of course, she wasn't going to do anything at all if he kept right on with this other woman.

So, logically, Evelyn needed to make him jealous as well. And what better way to do so, than cavorting in front of him with another man? Not that she would actually be _cavorting_, of course – but if O'Connell saw, and jumped to his own conclusions, well . . . that wasn't her fault, was it?

The only problem was, Evelyn's social spectrum consisted of Rick, Jonathan, and Ardeth Bay. This created a distinct problem, as one was the man she was trying to make jealous, one was her brother, and the other was a Med-jai warrior who – while admittedly quite attractive – would probably think her quite insane if she flirted with him, and take away her Responsible Curator badge as a result.

If he realized she was flirting with him at all, which was somewhat unlikely, considering the only close relationship he seemed to have was with his job.

That, and he lived in the desert.

This posed a problem.

Evelyn had been kissed all of a handful of times in her life. There were a few awkward little pecks from the few and far between suitors she had entertained over the years, and of course that first kiss with O'Connell, and that one after Hamunaptra's fall. Oh, and she and Imhotep had kissed, but Evelyn didn't really count those.

Though, in terms of kissing, the second one – when his face wasn't steadily decaying – hadn't been half bad. For someone who was thousands of years old.

. . .

Oh, yes, she seriously needed help.

Then a brief shuffling sounded behind her, and Evelyn turned to see her salvation standing there, all six tweed-clad feet of him.

Even more amusingly, he was carrying _Tuthmosis_, the very volume that had caused her so much trouble only a few months ago.

"H-hello," he stammered out, as he realized she was watching him.

If Evelyn had possessed an evil laugh, she would have laughed it right then.

  
  
Jewelry. Rick decided to follow Charlie's advice, and outside of the suggestion that he simply walk up to Evelyn and say, 'Guess what – I love you,' there was the plan of gift-giving. Flowers and chocolates really didn't seem to be Evelyn's style, but jewelry might be nice. After all, she had that locket with her parent's pictures in it that she always wore . . .

So he'd taken something from his third of the treasure brought back from Hamunaptra – he sold it only as he needed to, as it would obviously look conspicuous of him to go with a whole pile of artifacts from the City of the Dead and dump them on a pawnbroker's counter – and sold it to some archaeologist in a bar, a drunken fellow that reminded him a lot of Jonathan, who needed a 'big find.' He figured, why not give the guy a shot at fame while earning himself a few bucks?

However, later on walking through the Cairo market, Rick wasn't really sure what he was looking for. Of course, it helped little that the Cairo market was, in short, a tourist trap. There were enough actual Egyptian people in it, one supposed, but Westerners also flocked to its crowded, noisy, and dirty depths for a 'taste' of what Cairo was really like.

The vendors' constant calls of 'baksheesh' kept distracting him from the task at hand, and after he'd had everything from pomegranates and dates to miniature sarcophagi and canopic jars – neither of which he wanted in the least – Rick was starting to go insane, and was tempted to purchase anything, as long as he got to leave the market as soon as possible.

Then . . . _it_ caught his eye.

Out of all the merchants rigorously promoting their goods, Rick noticed one bent and stooped old woman standing at a small booth, simply watching the people around her with wizened eyes. She didn't seem particularly concerned at all about selling someone something, and perhaps that was what attracted him to her. Gravitating in her direction, he could see she was selling jewelry; not the quick and hastily manufactured pieces the others had, but jewelry that he would actually consider giving Evelyn.

And there, among that jewelry . . . _it_. The perfect gift for Evelyn.

  
  
Rick was exceedingly proud of himself for his intelligent purchase, though the old lady had been a little . . . well, 'creepy' would be a good word for it. Not exactly enough to make his danger sense prickle, but she spoke with a great deal of mystic metaphor, and was generally . . . well, odd. That little mattered, however, because he was more than certain that Evelyn was going to love his gift, and that it would melt the awkwardness. She would be so pleased it would leave the perfect opening for him to profess his love for her, they would kiss, and everything would lead up to happily ever after.

At least, that was what he thought until he actually entered the museum.

Rick promptly ceased whistling, and nearly dropped the carefully-wrapped package in his hand as he approached the exhibit where Evelyn was working.

No, not working.

_Flirting_.

Evelyn Carnahan and 'flirting' in the same sentence didn't quite seem to work, but there she was, with the tweedy sort of guy that made up Rick O'Connell's dreaded picture of Evelyn's Type of Guy That Wasn't Him. He was even wearing glasses, though he wasn't holding a cup of tea or a volume of Shakespeare, but one out of three was enough.

And to make matters worse, Evelyn seemed to be _interested_ in him. She kept throwing coquettish glances Rick didn't even know she was capable of in this guy's direction, and she had her hair down from its usual austere bun or plait, so that it was falling down her back in soft curls . . .

Rick felt a twinge of something very violent run through him.

Had he been a little more conscious and accepting of his own emotions, he would have recognized it as jealousy. But even if he looked in a mirror and saw his eyes had turned from blue to green, it wouldn't rightly matter at this moment, because he was busier concentrating on the urge not to rush up and strangle the guy's scrawny neck.

And then, though Rick couldn't hear what they were saying from his vantage point behind a statue of Anubis – oh, yes, it always had to be good old Anubis watching over the worst moments of his life, didn't it? – Evelyn _laughed_. She _laughed_.

Rick took a deep breath, then calmly walked forward and glanced between Evelyn and . . . Him.

Evelyn turned and greeted him with a pleasant smile, her lovely eyes sparkling. "Oh, hello, Rick."

Ordinarily, Rick would have been pleased to notice she had called him 'Rick' instead of 'O'Connell,' but right now he was just a little more interested in this guy. His eyes slid back and forth between them again, finally settling on the man.

"Evelyn . . . and who's your . . . friend?" he ground out.

"This is William Everett," Evelyn provided by way of introduction. "William, meet Rick O'Connell, a colleague of mine."

Colleague?

"Nice to meet you," William said.

Great, he was even British!

Rick drew in another breath. In, out, in, out . . . that was the trick. "Ah," he answered shortly.

"Rick, is something wrong?" Evelyn asked innocently.

"Wrong? No, what would be wrong?"

_Except that the woman I love is standing here flirting with some . . ._

"You look a little –"

_. . . British twit . . ._

"– green."

_. . . I'd like to see HIM try to save her from a mummy!_

"Really, are you sure?"

_Probably break his glasses and . . ._

"Rick?"

_. . . run off screaming like a girl._

"Uh . . . could you excuse us a second?" Rick finally asked of William, then – without waiting for a response – he took Evelyn by the upper arm and steered her away.

Evelyn had been momentarily pleased by Rick's reaction, noting well that he _was_ jealous, and as far as she was concerned, turnabout was fair play, as Rick had been off . . . canoodling with some woman who didn't even have a proper name.

But now he was acting a bit . . . well, off.

"Who the hell is that guy?" Rick asked, and none too gently, his voice a hissing whisper. He gestured in the direction of the young man they had just departed from.

"I told you," Evelyn said, keeping her voice carefully calm in the face of the raging storm that was O'Connell's temper. "His name is William. His father's an archaeologist, and he's looking to study it himself, so I asked him if he might like to stay and help me with an exhibit –"

"You pull in every guy off the street who wants to be an archaeologist and act like he's your best friend?" Rick demanded, the pitch and volume of his voice rising with each word.

Evelyn's eyes widened in indignant surprise. "Why, Richard O'Connell, are you accusing me of being some – some – _loose woman_!? I never!"

"Then why the hell are you standing here _flirting_ with him!?" Rick questioned, his voice a near yell now.

Evelyn's own voice became very, very shrill. "Maybe if you wouldn't go off and – and – consort with other women, I wouldn't _have_ to flirt with someone else to get your attention!"

By now, several other people – a very blushing William included – had turned to gape at the argument between their curator and her American friend.

Rick's mouth opened and closed a few times, a finger waving in the air, until he finally settled for a look of confusion. His tone went quieter, and he asked, "What do you mean, other women?"

"Your friend _Charlie_?" Evelyn shot back at him accusingly. "Jonathan said he saw you two together in a bar, and that this _Charlie_ was a _woman_!"

"Charlie and I are just friends, for your information!" Rick informed her. "You've got it completely wrong, but that's what you get for listening to your idiot brother –"

"Don't you talk about Jonathan that way!" Evelyn cried. "He did me a favor, showing me what kind of man you _really_ were –"

"Yeah, an _idiot_ for letting myself fall in love with you!" Rick yelled.

"Well, did you ever stop and think I might be in love with you, too!?" Evelyn shouted.

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

They both fell silent for a very long moment, then finally Evelyn spoke up, in a very small voice. "You're in love with me?"

"Yeah," Rick said quietly. "You're in love with me?"

"Yes," Evelyn responded.

"Oh."

"Indeed."

Rick paused, nodding slightly. "So . . ."

"So . . ."

"What should we do now?"

"Well," Evelyn said slowly, "You could kiss me."

"Okay," Rick responded, a bit winded. "If you don't mind me for being a stupid idiot . . ."

"I don't," she sniffled. "If you don't mind me being an idiot, too."

Rick grinned. "What can I say – we were meant for each other."

Evelyn smiled in return, then he swept her up in his arms and kissed her, the sort of kiss most girls didn't imagine even in their wildest dreams – why, had they been outside, fireworks probably would have shot into the sky.

But for now, they simply allowed the applause of their observers to suffice.


	4. Murphy’s Law

**Chapter Four**  
_Murphy's Law_

  


Something evil was afoot, Jonathan had decided. It all started earlier that afternoon when Evelyn came home on time from the museum for once (though Jonathan had initially thought she was stunningly early, having forgotten the time she was _supposed_ to get off work, as she was typically almost always late). She had a silly smile on her face, and came up behind him while he was rummaging in the liquor cabinet, throwing her arms around him in a hug. It startled Jonathan, and he almost dropped his glass of brandy; fortunately enough, however, he had been inebriated often enough that even when he got thoroughly sloshed, at least his drink did not.

"Good evening, Jonathan!" Evelyn enthused, releasing him again and skipping off toward the kitchen.

Jonathan blinked owlishly, watching his sister's rather, well, giddy movements, and he followed her along, taking a moment to down half his drink just in case. "Stunningly good mood you seem to be in, old mum," he commented.

For once, his baby sister did not seem perturbed that he called her 'old mum,' she simply went on humming to herself and swept over to the counter, setting down a bag of groceries that Jonathan hadn't noticed she had before. "Oh, yes," she finally said, a bright smile on her face. "And do you know why?"

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Jonathan muttered into his brandy, draining the remainder of the liquid and setting the glass down on the counter as if he were at a bar and demanding a refill. "Why?"

"Because," Evelyn said, removing an assortment of vegetables from the grocery sack, then drawing out a brown paper-wrapped object that Jonathan assumed was some sort of roast, "I am in love. And Rick is coming to dinner!"

Jonathan was far more bowled over by the rather nonchalant proclamation of Evelyn's 'love' than he was by the knowledge that O'Connell was coming to dinner – and since when had the American become 'Rick'? "When did this develop?" he demanded with a huff.

"Oh, I asked him this afternoon before I left work," she responded casually, moving over to the cabinets to retrieve the necessary pots and pans. It was incredibly strange to see Evelyn in such a good mood while cooking – doing so was something she typically avoided like a plague (or perhaps even more so than one, considering they'd been in quite a few), and Jonathan's own attempts at cookery often turned out better than his sister's.

"That's not what I mean," he corrected. "When did you two figure out you were . . . er, in . . . 'love'?"

It was almost painful to speak the words! Jonathan rarely realized it, but he had gotten rather attached to the way Evy took care of him over the years, and he didn't exactly want to give her up, even if the brash American who had caught her eye was a relatively nice guy. It still meant that he, Jonathan, would be left out in the cold. For the years since their parents died, he and Evelyn had been the only family each other had – and now . . . where would he be?

Evelyn finally slowed down, turning to look at him with a glowing smile on her face. Jonathan could feel his insides twisting in confusion – he wanted to be selfish and think only about how this was going to hurt _him_, but at the same time he couldn't help but realize how happy his sister looked when she spoke about or thought of O'Connell. Could Jonathan really deny her that happiness, simply to fulfill his own needs?

"He told me today," she said, a blush creeping into her cheeks. "And, well, Jonathan – I just don't think I've ever felt this way about anyone."

"Well," Jonathan said slowly, reluctantly, pushing at the selfishness inside himself that wanted to be heard, "I'm happy for you, baby sister."

Evelyn beamed at that, and threw her arms around him again in a hug. "Oh, Jonathan, thank you. I'm so glad you are – I was worried you wouldn't approve."

Jonathan was oddly touched by that; in recent years, it had been more himself who was self-conscious of what Evelyn thought, not the other way around – he'd always sought her approval . . . and now it made him feel good that she actually cared what he thought. Then again, he supposed he shouldn't have underestimated her in assuming she did not.

"Oh, don't be silly," Jonathan said, feeling rather self-conscious and looking rather lanky as he pulled back from her embrace and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I suppose you and O'Connell always _have_ been meant for each other . . ."

  
Dinner that evening went amazingly well, considering just who it involved, though as he sat through an hour and a half of Evelyn and O'Connell sitting making eyes at each other, Jonathan was beginning to seriously rethink his charitable attitude of earlier. If he'd thought they were bad enough before, then they were ten times worse _now_.

Perhaps it was slightly (or, well, very) immature for Jonathan to look at things from such a perspective, there was the fact that Evy was his baby sister – and sitting about watching the previously logical young woman mooning over some American chap was simply . . . disturbing.

"All right," Jonathan said irritably, tossing down his napkin and sliding back his chair, "I'm going to go outside and get some fresh air." _Away_ from all the mushiness, he added silently.

After a non-committal noise from Evy and no response at all forthcoming from O'Connell, a very self-pitying and grumbling Jonathan stumbled out the backdoor and out onto the patio. It was generally as unexciting as most attempts at landscaping in Egypt were, as far as Jonathan was concerned.

A few plants that managed to thrive in the heat – despite the neglect of their owners – made up what could be very loosely called a garden, along with a few trees. In the center of it all was a rectangular indentation that had once been a pond, but was now nothing more than a dried-up hole in the ground that Jonathan had spent a few nights of drunken stupor in, blearily staring up at the fish-shaped fountain that spouted nothing at all.

Ah, yes, the memories . . .

  
Back inside the house, Rick and Evelyn were both relieved and made nervous at being left alone together. Somehow, it was easier to 'make eyes' at each other when there was a third person present in the room. Something about Jonathan had given them a sort of comfort zone, a comfort zone that was taken away now that Evelyn's older brother had left the room.

Rick cleared his throat, and looked around. "This is, uh, a nice place. Your parents lived here?"

Evelyn nodded, too anxious herself to remember that Rick had been there before, and knew all about the fact that she had spent a lot of her childhood in the house. Instead, she got up from the table and picked up a few of the dishes, simply to have something to do.

Rick helped Evelyn to carry the dishes into the kitchen, then they both went back out into the living room and sat down. As Rick settled alongside Evelyn on the couch, he felt the slight clinking of the gift he had bought earlier, from its resting place in his pocket, and he patted a hand against it, contemplating when would be a good time to actually give it to her.

Finally, he cleared his throat and reached into his pocket, nervously letting the metal slip into the palm of his hand. "Ah, Evelyn?"

She turned to look at him fully, a curious look on her face. "Yes, Rick?"

"I was, uh, looking in the market today, and I saw this, and I thought you might like it . . ."

Pausing, Rick extracted something shiny and silver from his pocket, and lifted it up so that Evelyn could see it. It actually proved to be a piece of jewelry in the Western style, rather than the exotic Egyptian work that had become commonplace for them while living in Cairo, a bracelet with delicate links, and dangling from it a single charm in the shape of a cat, with bright eyes made out of jade. "The eyes reminded me of you," he finished.

"Oh, Rick," Evelyn said, breathless, "it's lovely." And, she realized, it was really the first time she had been given a gift from a man in a romantic sense. She'd had birthday and Christmas presents from male friends and colleagues, but never anything like this, with absolutely no occasion involved.

"Here, I'll fasten it for you . . ."

  
Two hours later, after Rick had left, Evelyn felt giddy as she went about doing the dishes and straightening up the kitchen. Homemaking was never her forte, but she managed to clean up without breaking anything, which was a definite plus. Every now and then, she would look down at the bracelet on her wrist, thinking about Rick's thoughtfulness. She knew that outwardly, he really didn't come off as the type to be like that, but when you really got to know him, there was a more sensitive Rick under the surface that the less sensitive one didn't want people to know about, and she felt privileged to be one of the few people to know that his sensitive side existed.

Glancing at the clock, she realized that Jonathan had been gone a while, and she went out the backdoor to check on him. He was nowhere to be seen, so she decided he must have gone out as usual. Normally, he would have told her he was going, but with Rick over, maybe he hadn't wanted to say anything to interrupt them, though that would be a rare bit of thoughtfulness on Jonathan's part. Whatever the case might have been, he wasn't there, and she turned to go back inside, but the sight of something glinting out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she went to inspect it further.

Jonathan's gold pocket watch was lying in the bed of the dried-up ornamental pond. Evelyn stepped down to retrieve it and brushed a bit of dust from the surface, curious as to how it had ended up there. The watch was one of the few things Jonathan cared about enough to hang on to over the years without pawning it away when he needed money. It had belonged to their father – and their father's father, and so on – and she knew it meant a lot to him, so why leave it out here?

He must have failed to notice that he dropped it, she decided, because it was, after all, Jonathan. Well, she might as well hang on to it for him – he would want it later, when he realized it was missing, but for now, she was going to bed. It was simply too pleasant of a day to let it be ruined now.

  


* * *

  
**Author's Note**: Yes, I am still alive! It has been a really long time since an update, I realize, and this chapter is a bit short and not a lot seems to happen, but I couldn't elaborate much further without making it too long. Also, since, at the end of every chapter, I have a lot of people asking me, "Is this it?" I figured I should let everyone know – when the story ends, I'll let you know by putting a 'the end' there. Until then, assume any chapter without it will be to be continued. Also, for anyone who doesn't know, Murphy's Law is: 'anything that can go wrong will go wrong.'


End file.
